Under the Lights

“Of course I know him. We’ve been dating for months. He’s a nice guy, Brianna.”

She laughs and turns back to the road as the light turns green. “Christ, listen to you. You know how much his ‘nice guy’ act is manufactured by my mom and it still gets to you. He’s not a nice guy, Van. He’s using you to keep his name in the news before the Wonder Boys go on tour. And you’re letting him because you’re scared.”

I’ve never heard Bri sound so cruel, and more than anything I want to jump out of this car and run. Tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to cry in her presence. Instead, I inhale sharply through my nose, grip the door handle, glare out the window, and pray we’ll hit green lights all the way to Sugar.

Which is, of course, when we hit another red.

Bri pulls to a stop, and we’re both silent for several of the world’s longest moments. And then she says, “Dammit. Vanessa, I’m sorry.”

I don’t say anything, don’t turn, just bite my lip. If I do anything else, I know I’ll spend the next ten minutes cleaning smeared eyeliner from my cheeks.

She sighs, and out of the corner of my eye, I watch her drop her head into her hands. Her hair is straight tonight — a rarity for her — and the long strands splay over her arms, calling to my fingers. I turn to face her, but keep my hands where they are. A second later, she picks her head back up and meets my gaze head-on.

She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are filled with genuine regret that hits me low in my stomach. For endless moments, neither of us moves, but then the light turns green, and she doesn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry,” she says again, her voice raw as she puts her foot to the pedal again. “You’re right. You’re with Zander, and I have no right to question why or what the two of you do. I’m sure he’s crazy about you.” The right corner of her mouth curls up, just a little bit. “How could he not be?”

The flip in my stomach at those words is intense and immediate, and I tear my eyes away from her mouth and force them back on the road. For someone who wanted me to stop flirting with her last night, it sure sounds a lot like she’s doing it right now.

Or maybe she’s just messing with me because she can. “Don’t mock me,” I say stiffly, watching her reflection in the windshield.

“I’m not mocking you,” she says softly. “But okay, yeah, maybe I’m mocking him a little bit. I’m sorry, but I just don’t buy this. At all. Why would either of you want to take a purity pledge? You really don’t want to have sex until you’re married?”

“What if I don’t?”

“Then I respect that. If it’s really what you want. But is it?”

The billion-dollar question. “I don’t know,” I admit cautiously. “I believe in saving myself until I’m in love. Is that really so different?”

“Um, yes? Like, immensely different.”

“Okay, well, it’s not like I have the ring on my finger yet,” I remind her. “I still have time to think about it.”

“What is there even to think about? How can you say yes to this if you’re not sure it’s what you want?”

Is it really any scarier than saying yes to this when I’m not sure it’s what I want? The words are on the tip of my tongue, but saying them aloud…that’s a whole Pandora’s box I’m just not ready to open. Besides, I’m still not sure what “this” is. Hanging out with Bri doesn’t feel like hanging out with Ally, but it doesn’t feel like hanging out with Zander, either. I just know it’s never enough. But what is it I even want? And what does she want?

“Hey, Van.” Bri snaps black-painted fingertips. “Where’d you go? We’re here.”

“Just thinking,” I mumble as I unbuckle my seatbelt and pull down the visor to check my makeup in the mirror. “Look, it’s not that I don’t get what you’re saying, but Zander did make some good points. Kids look up to us.”

“Yeah, and that’s great, but shouldn’t they look up to you for who you are and not who you’re pretending to be? Don’t you want to be someone they admire for ideals you actually possess?”

I dab on another coat of lip gloss, but my hands are shaking. She’s right. I know she’s right. My idols are actresses who persevered against racism in Hollywood and got themselves great roles against all odds. I have no idea what their policies are on sex, and I don’t give a damn. Why would I? How did I let Zander talk me into thinking that matters?

Bri doesn’t make me answer; I’m pretty sure she already knows exactly how I feel. Instead, she opens her door as I cap my makeup, and then she slips out. I toss my lip gloss back in my bag just as the valet opens my door and focus as intensely as humanly possible on not flashing anyone in my micromini as he offers his hand to help me slide off the seat.

“Ready?” she asks as she hands her keys over.

“Ready,” I confirm, smoothing my dress down over my thighs. “Do—”

“Oh, I should just leave my jacket with the car, right?” Before I can answer, she slides it off and hands it to the valet. “I’m sorry — do you mind?”